


A New Tradition

by MagicalStranger13



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5292140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Marianne and Bog's first time hosting Thanksgiving in their home and the former ends up wanting to start a new tradition thanks to a certain Scotman's cooking antics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, not really very proud of this one, but it is what it is I guess. Hope you guys like it better than I do. Short sexttimes ahead. Nothing too explicit though, I don't think.

* * *

“There!”  Marianne announced to herself as she took as step back to survey her work.  “All done!” 

She’d finally finished preparing the two guest bedrooms; one for her father and the other for Sunny and Dawn.  Bog’s mom would be coming to dinner as well, but since she lived only twenty minutes away, there was no need for her to stay the night too. 

This year was going to be the very first year she and Bog would be hosting Thanksgiving, and Marianne was pretty excited about it.  Her family had come half-way across the country for this, and she’d been a real micro-manager all this week.  She wondered how Bog had put up with her half the time.  Ultimately, it was decided that since she didn’t know an eggbeater from a spatula, Bog would handle the meal, and she was in charge of everything else. 

Satisfied, she shut the bedroom doors and mentally ticked off her list of chores as she headed down the stairs to the kitchen to check on her husband.

The bedrooms were ready, the guest bathroom was stocked and spotless, the living room was straightened up with the TV on and the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade already playing, and of course the dining room was a vision with grandma’s pearl linen table cloth, Marianne's brand new Royal Albert bone china set, crystal wine glasses and polished silverware. 

Maybe she’d gone a tad overboard, but ever since she was a kid, Thanksgiving had always been a dazzling, but nonetheless warm and cozy affair for her, and she wanted her first holiday feast in her new home to be memorable.      

Now that her work load was through, perhaps now she could give Bog a hand with dinner.

When she reached the bottom of the steps and turned into the short hallway leading to the kitchen, the opening notes of a familiar song met her ears.  Bog loved to play music and sing while he cooked, and Marianne _loved_ to watch and listen.

She sighed to herself in contentment as she stepped into the mouth-watering aroma-filled kitchen.  The turkey was cooling on the stove-top, the green bean casserole was baking in the oven and the chef himself, was swaying to the music and currently shaping chunks of floury dough into balls for the dinner rolls. 

_Make the world go away~_

_Get it off, get it off my shoulder~_

_Say the things we used to say~_

_And make the world, make it go away~_

Marianne took a seat at the kitchen table, rested her chin in her hand, and watched her soulmate’s little concert with a dreamy look in her eyes.  He was always so attractive to her when he sang while he cooked.  Plus, it didn’t hurt that she was still a bit stimulated from last night. 

They’d decided to watch _The Scarlet Letter_ since it was, according to Bog, “sorta Thanksgiving-y”.  Well, after a short American history lecture on the difference between the Pilgrims and the Puritans, Marianne gave in (she’d always thought Gary Oldman was hot as Reverend Dimmsdale) and they’d settled down together on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn until the heated love scene prompted an equally heated make out session which escalated into…… _other_ things.     

_Do you remember when you loved me~_

_Before the world took you away~_

_Well if you do, then forgive me~_

_And make the world, make it go away~_

Sweet Jesus, he looked so sexy in that grey sweater and those tight navy jeans!  And his deep, soulful singing voice never failed to make her quiver and melt.  Marianne chewed her lip and crossed her legs as her temperature began to rise down south.

_Yeah, make the world go away~_

_Yeah, get it off, get it off, get it off my shoulder~_

_Say the things we used to say~_

_And make the world go away~_

Bog’s eyes slid closed as he immersed himself in the song and gently moved his hips from side to side, giving Marianne (whom he had yet to notice) a deliciously fantastic view of his firm backside.  He threw his head back each time the music reached a high point, exposing his long, pale throat and doing nothing to quell his wife’s increasingly dirty train of thought.

_Now I’m sorry if I hurt you~_

_Let me make it up to you day by day~_

_And if you will, please forgive me~_

_And make the world, make it go away~_

Boy, did Marianne want to follow Elvis’s instructions right now: make the world go away, throw Bog down on the kitchen table and show him that she was hungry for more than just pumpkin pie.  Her breathing grew labored, and she squirmed in her seat.  She was _definitely_ not going to be responsible for her actions if he kept this up.

_Oh, make the world go away~_

_Yeah, get it off, get it off my shoulder~_

_Say the things we used to day~_

_And make the world, make it go away~_

On the last line, Bog finally looked over his shoulder and spotted his wife staring at him.  He gave her a wink and held out the end note with more embellishment than necessary.

Marianne shook her head.  He was _such_ a dork.

_And he’s all mine._

“Hey there.”  He said as the bridge of the song played.  “Well, did ye finally get the castle spick n’ span to yer likin', my queen?”

“More or less.  Enjoying yourself in here?”

He playfully shrugged in reply.

“How much do you have left to do?”

“Just gotta finish these babies an’ let ‘em rise fer an hour, then pop ‘em in the oven.  I jus’ put the green bean casserole in, so it’ll be done in about thirty minutes.  Other than that, we’re right on schedule.”

“Good.”

At that moment, the chorus returned, and Bog resumed his singing.  Marianne’s grin couldn’t be described as anything less than wicked as she rose smoothly from the table, and approached her husband without alerting his attention until it was too late.

_Yeah, make the world go away~_

_Get it off, get it off my shoulder~_

_Say the things you used to say~_

_And make the world go away~_

“Bravo.”  She praised, wrapping her arms around Bog from behind and pressing her cheek against the soft wool of his sweater.

“Glad ye liked it.”

Tom Petty’s ‘American Girl’ came next on the shuffle, and Bog decided to give his voice a rest in favor of simply humming along to the lyrics as he continued to mold the dough into balls.  For a few long seconds, all seemed innocent; that is, until Marianne began to nuzzle the _very_ sensitive spot between Bog’s shoulder blades and massage his stomach through his sweater.

He reacted as she expected: he twitched in surprise and nearly dropped the wad of dough in his hands to the floor. 

“Careful, Tough Girl.” Bog warned, trying to cover his lapse in composure with a breathless laugh.  “Yer distractin’ me.”

“Maybe that’s the idea.”

Like two sinful little spiders, Marianne’s hands immediately crept under his sweater, and softly scratched their nails all the way down the expanse of his back.  This time, Bog _did_ drop the palm-full of dough on the floor as he swore and arched towards his wife’s touch.  Why, oh _why_ did God bless/curse him with such an easily exploitable erogenous zone?  He could already feel his cock swelling!

“Ngh...hah……Ma-Marianne…I….oh God……please, luv…I can’t…mmm!”

“Serves you right for teasing me.”

“Wha-?  I-I wasn’t-!”

“Oh, I know you weren’t doing it on purpose, crooning and swiveling that ass of yours at me, but I’m gonna make you pay for it anyway.  It’s lots more fun.”

To underline her point, Marianne used her secret weapon.  She lifted Bog’s sweater, and slid her tongue all the way up his spine.  

“FUCK!”

It never failed.

Bog’s hands slapped down hard on the counter to catch himself as he pitched forward in rapture, and more blood rushed to his groin. 

As she continued to mouth each vertebrae, Marianne’s hands entered phase two of her plan: they crept back around to Bog’s waist, and starting undoing the front of his jeans.

“M-Marianne, are ye…ah…are ye _c-crazy_?!”  Bog cried in one last pitiful attempt at maintaining his sanity.  “W-We can’t, _now_!  The family’s gonna…oh _fuck_ …they’re gonna be here any m-m-minute, and-and I-!”

His protests were finally silenced with a sharp gasp as Marianne at last freed his throbbing erection from his boxers, and gave it several firm strokes.  Now completely helpless, Bog bowed over the counter with a desperate whine, balling his hands into fists and gritting his teeth. 

“Then in that case,” his evil wife purred, releasing him to spin him around so she could make a show of shimmying out of her panties, “you better get a _move_ on, Mr. King.”

Bog was quite a sight: flushed, panting, disheveled, and sagging against the counter with his dick hanging all the way out of his jeans; but when Marianne flicked her purple, lacy scrap of underwear at him, he was long gone.  Practically snarling, he shoved Marianne backwards against the fridge, and kissed her like a dying man.  He heard the sound of a few magnets clattering to the floor.

Moaning with pleasure at her victory, Marianne parted her mouth, and lashed Bog’s eager tongue with her own.  Her arms shot up around his neck, and she bounced slightly on her tiptoes. 

Bog got the message, and cupped her buttocks, lifting her off the floor and pressing her more securely against the fridge.  His eyes almost rolled back when she wrapped her legs around his thin waist. and he felt the wet, naked heat of her against his tip.

“Can this be a new tradition?”  She whispered as she sucked his pulse-point. 

“I…oh bloody hell….I dorn’t know.  I dorn’t think the… _shit_ …the fridge can take this every y-year.”

“Well, this is an _extra_ special occasion.”

“I love ye.”

“I love you too, now give me something _else_ to be thankful for today.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

One powerful thrust, and Marianne was clutching Bog like a life-line, screaming her lungs out as her husband set a glorious, demanding pace that thumped her against the fridge door. God, he was so _big,_ and he knew just how to fuck her right!  Right in that spot that set her skin on fire, and emptied her mind of everything but him and what he was doing to her. 

Bog was just as affected, if not more so.  He squeezed her skirt-covered cheeks in his hands, buried his face in her shoulder, and moved faster.   She was so slick, so tight, and she smelled so damn good!  He didn’t know whether to be thrilled or worried that she could get him so horny so quickly, but if this was the result, who was he to complain? 

_Let her do whatever she wants to me, I dorn’t care.  I love her so much!_

Neither of them were going to last very long, but perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.  Considering the circumstances, they both needed to practice mastering the art of the quickie. 

“Ma-Marianne, are ye close?  I’m-I’m gonna-!”

“Me too!  Oh _fuck_ , Bog, don’t stop!  Keep _going_!”

Marianne slid her hand between them to rub her clit, and the increased sensation, plus the erotic sight for Bog, shattered them both in a deafening eruption of burning ecstasy.  The wiry Scotsman stiffened and growled loud in his throat as his wife unleashed a drawn out wail and clawed at him while her orgasm rolled over her like the tide. 

They remained motionless in the aftermath, trembling and struggling for breath.  Marianne pecked Bog’s cheek, and combed her fingers through his hair while he brushed tender kisses over her neck.    

“I take it back.”  Bog finally managed to say clearly.  “We’re _so_ makin’ this a new tradition.  I’ll buy a new fridge if we have to.”

“Glad you see things my way.”  Marianne giggled as Bog set her down and tucked himself back into his pants.  “We should uh…freshen up.”

“Yeah, get outta here ye wee vixen so I clean up this mess ye made in my kitchen.”  Bog chuckled as he stooped to pick up the fridge magnets.        

“The mess _I_ made?”  Marianne snorted before giving her husband’s bottom a swat as she passed him to retrieve her panties, which had ended up snagged on a drawer handle. 

“See you at dinner?”  She asked once she was redressed.

“Ye know it.”  Bog murmured pulling her into his arms for one last passionate kiss before she left the room.  

* * *

Marianne had barely taken a few steps out of the kitchen before she heard the unmistakable honking of Dawn’s VW Beetle pulling into the drive.  By the time she’d jogged to the front door, her baby sister, whom she hadn’t seen in six months, was already on the porch, jumping up and down, and beaming brighter than her namesake.  She must’ve bolted from the car as soon as the brakes were put on.  Marianne could still see Sunny and her father unloading the bags from the trunk. 

“EEEEE!  MARIANNE!”  Dawn squealed, sweeping her into a bear hug.  “I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!”

“Hey, glitter-bug!  I missed you too.”  Marianne greeted, turning to lead her sister into the house.  “Come one inside, I’ll show you where you can put your- WOAH!”

Her speech was interrupted by Dawn suddenly grabbing her upper arms and quickly driving her out of the living-room, down the hall, and into the master-bedroom.  

“Dawn!”  Marianne scolded, looking around once she was released to find her sister shutting the door behind them.  “What the heck are you-?”

“You might wanna change your skirt before Dad comes in.”

“Huh?  Why?”

Dawn nodded towards the full-length mirror in the corner, and Marianne’s face bloomed cherry red when she saw that Bog had left a white, ten-fingered impression on the back of her dark skirt.  She’d totally forgotten that his hands were covered in _flour_!

“Heh, heh.  Um, oops?”

“Yeeeaaaaaah, I’m gonna go to the kitchen and say ‘hi’ to Bog, since that’s _obviously_ where he is, while you put on something else.  Might I suggest the punch pink dress I got you for Christmas last year?  It goes so well with your eyes!”

“Uh…okay I will, thanks.”

As Dawn slipped out the door to find Bog, Marianne shook her head and headed to the closet to fish out the dress Dawn mentioned.  When she unzipped her skirt, she paused, and drifted a hand over the tiny bump in her stomach, now looking more forward than ever to make her and Bog’s special surprise announcement tonight.   

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Thanksgiving you guys!  
> <3


End file.
